My laptop´s hard drive died for the second time in less than a year, so I won´t be able to update nearly as often until I figure out what to do to fix/replace it. I will add photos to this post once I get things figured out. There´s many, so I might just do an additional huge photo post.
Yesterday, we went on a bus tour of Brussels. It was fairly boring, the sights were beautiful but the tour guide had a very thick Flemish accent that nobody could understand very well. Then a few of us, plus Sabine, my director, got off at the Grand Place and took pictures. The pictures cannot do the place justice. It looks amazing online, but it is absolutely breathtaking in person. We stopped in at a famous bar next to the Mannekin Pis (Brussels´ famous fountain of a little boy peeing), which was a lot smaller than I thought it would be. I tried a banana gin drink, and it was fabulous. I love being in Europe, and actually being treated like the adult I am. The first day I was actually in Brussels, a downpour hit us out of nowhere. We ducked into a bar and I ordered a glass of Merlot to wait it out. In America, the government is perfectly happy with me signing up and dying in a war for them, but I cannot get a drink. I find it ridiculous.
After finishing our drinks, we headed down another street on the Grand Place and some girls in our group really wanted a Mohito (there was a restaurant offering them 2 for 1). Me and another guy in our group (whose name escapes me) decided to go get some frites because we were hungry. Oh. My. God. The best fries I´ve ever eaten in my life. I did not eat them with mayonnaise, as is traditional, but the frierere (the man who made the frites) recommended a Belgian mayonnaise-based sauce (I can´t remember the name). It was bloody delicious. We returned to the rest of our group, frites in hand. We were in a very tourist-y area. There was plenty of English speaking Americans, which was a nice break from the primarily French-speaking in the metro and in my neighborhood. There was a lot of Japanese people, too, doing three different ´peace´ poses in front of the Mannekin Pis, holding up the rest of the tourists from taking a picture. Oh, the Japanese tourists.
Also, fellow Americans, while it´s on my mind. If you go to a famous, historical, beautiful, medieval square, and wear pajama pants, you look like a f#$%ing idiot. Pajama pants: ok for walking to breakfast in (American) college on a Saturday morning, not ok for walking through Europe. You cannot stand more out as an American than to wear pajamas outside, on cobblestone streets older than their great-great-great-grandparents, at 4:00pm. I saw three girls wearing pajama pants yesterday. I wanted to punch them and tell them that they, themselves, were what is wrong with America. </rant>
That´s been my adventures thus far, I think I skipped a day before, but honestly, nothing really that great happened. Actually, I kinda can´t remember. OH YEAH, I do now.
On Saturday, we went to the Atomium, which was very impressive. Similar to the Mannekin Pis, it was much larger than I expected. You go up an elevator to the very top ball and get a crazy beautiful view of Brussels. On a clear day, you can sometimes see all the way to Antwerp.
Today´s been warm and sunny, but every other day has been really cold, and rainy. It´s very different from an American summer. The weather is very unpredictable, the only thing you do know about a Belgian summer is that it won´t freeze.
Au revoir, my friends. I´ll update with photos soon (I hope) <3
Monday, May 30, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Things I miss from the USA
- Ice. Definitely #1. I miss ice in my drink so bad.
- Macaroni and cheese. Haven't seen it yet. I'm craving it. The kind with Spiderman shapes. Those taste the best.
- Hearty breakfasts. Breakfasts in Belgium (or as far as I've experience) are fruit, bread with chocolate spread, or cereal. Now, I love chocolate spread, and I love cereal, but I could kill for a large ham, bacon, and spinach omelette. Now, before you ask, no, waffles are not a choice for breakfast. They're not breakfast food at all in Belgium. They're more of a dessert. I haven't gotten my first Belgian waffle yet, I'm waiting until I go to the Grand Place for a very particular store, but waffles are very much dessert. They come with whipped cream, chocolate, strawberries, sugar, cream, everything.
- Important signs in English. I know French decently, but a lot of times, there are words I don't know and I end up standing in the middle of the road, trying to figure out which way to go.
- Less aggressive drivers. The driving here: terrifying. Every time I cross a road, I think I'm going to die. There's very little street lights in Brussels, and people just sorta go through intersections on their own and have many near-misses and horns blown. There's pedestrian walk signs, but drivers don't stop for them unless they're about to hit a person. Drivers also swerve in and out of lanes, and sometimes drive on the curb or sidewalk to get past someone slower than them.
- You.
A Most Splendid Dinner
Sabine drove me to the house and spoke in rapid French (definitely too fast for me to comprehend) to Clementine and Stephanie, two Belgian teenagers who live in this house. We shook hands and they both grabbed all my things and ran up four flights of stairs with them. Helene arrived shortly after and we met. She speaks significantly less English than her daughters, so most conversations I have with her are in French (slowly, and she repeats a lot of things).
The other two American girls who I'm sharing a floor with were asleep when I arrived, but I met them once they woke up. Neither speak French, so I translate some of what Helene says to them (I prefer when Clementine is around, though, because she does it much better than I).
I live on the fourth floor of this beautiful home and in Helene's son's old room (he now lives with his father). There's a giant poster (3'x5') of Will Smith in iRobot (the French version. The tag line says: Un seul homme avait compris). There's also a large poster of Poseidon (again, in French), and another of the Manhatten skyline pre-9/11, which I absolutely love. It reminds me what I work so hard at school for.
The shower here is so different from in America. The shower head and water all work the same, but there is no shower curtain, just a small panel that covers about half the tub. I was surprised that it kept most of the water off the floor. Once we are done showering, Helene told us to open the window to let the heat out. Apparently previous students didn't do that, and there's significant water damage in that room now.
A phone on our floor rang around 8:00PM. We all stared at it.
"What do we do?"
"I guess pick it up"
"Ok. Hello? Hello? There's nobody there"
The phone is used for a lot of things, but mostly the intercom to let people into the house. Helene pushes a button on it at dinner time to tell us to go downstairs.
We had spaghetti and red wine for dinner (I didn't partake of the wine tonight, I was too tired). It was very, very good. I was self-conscious about how I should eat around Belgians, so I asked them if there were any rules to follow that Americans might not know. Stephanie laughed and said, "Don't eat with your hands!" The family is very laid back, and not strict at all about table manners. They tried to teach Kristen how to twirl spaghetti with a spoon, to very funny results.
I had my first (well, not first, per say) drink without ice. It wasn't bad, but I'll definitely have to get used to it. Helene put a large jug of de l'eau (water) on the table and you helped yourself to pouring it.
We had this vanilla pudding for dessert, and I've never tasted anything like it. I don't know if I can even describe it. It was in the refrigerator, pre-packaged, so she didn't make it, but it's something not sold in the United States. Very delicious.
One thing that I noticed that I previously read about Belgian people is that the family wastes nothing. There's a couple meatballs and noodles left in your bowl? Feed it to Jack, the family dog. The toilet has two buttons: one uses much less water than the other. There's no air conditioning, there's windows to use (though it's quite cool here at the moment). The escalators at the metro don't run until they sense someone steps on them. Any leftover butter on your plate goes back into its container. If you recycle your beer bottle, you get reimbursed almost the entire cost. It's so very different than in America, where most people just throw away food and aren't concerned about recycling. It's difficult for me to remember to try to eat all of the food on my plate or to separate all of my trash into many different bins because I'm not used to doing it in America.
I'm a day behind in my blogging, so I'm going to try to update it all tonight.
The other two American girls who I'm sharing a floor with were asleep when I arrived, but I met them once they woke up. Neither speak French, so I translate some of what Helene says to them (I prefer when Clementine is around, though, because she does it much better than I).
I live on the fourth floor of this beautiful home and in Helene's son's old room (he now lives with his father). There's a giant poster (3'x5') of Will Smith in iRobot (the French version. The tag line says: Un seul homme avait compris). There's also a large poster of Poseidon (again, in French), and another of the Manhatten skyline pre-9/11, which I absolutely love. It reminds me what I work so hard at school for.
I don't know what that thing is behind the bed. I try not to look at it.
View out my window
(The loft and Kristen and Jamie's room)
I keep forgetting that I'm actually here to go to school. I start on Monday, and then there's national holidays all week. On Thursday, June 2nd, I'll be travelling to Dinant and Han-sur-Leese. Then, on the fourth, I'm going to Gent. I'll definitely be doing more traveling (depending on the price, I may be traveling to Amsterdam with some people I know here) but these are the ones that are the closest in date. I'm nervous about communication in Flanders. I speak decent French, so I've survived in Brussels (80% of Brussels speaks French), but the only thing I can say in Flemish is, "The girl eats an apple" (Het meische eaten een apple), which doesn't help much.The shower here is so different from in America. The shower head and water all work the same, but there is no shower curtain, just a small panel that covers about half the tub. I was surprised that it kept most of the water off the floor. Once we are done showering, Helene told us to open the window to let the heat out. Apparently previous students didn't do that, and there's significant water damage in that room now.
A phone on our floor rang around 8:00PM. We all stared at it.
"What do we do?"
"I guess pick it up"
"Ok. Hello? Hello? There's nobody there"
The phone is used for a lot of things, but mostly the intercom to let people into the house. Helene pushes a button on it at dinner time to tell us to go downstairs.
We had spaghetti and red wine for dinner (I didn't partake of the wine tonight, I was too tired). It was very, very good. I was self-conscious about how I should eat around Belgians, so I asked them if there were any rules to follow that Americans might not know. Stephanie laughed and said, "Don't eat with your hands!" The family is very laid back, and not strict at all about table manners. They tried to teach Kristen how to twirl spaghetti with a spoon, to very funny results.
I had my first (well, not first, per say) drink without ice. It wasn't bad, but I'll definitely have to get used to it. Helene put a large jug of de l'eau (water) on the table and you helped yourself to pouring it.
We had this vanilla pudding for dessert, and I've never tasted anything like it. I don't know if I can even describe it. It was in the refrigerator, pre-packaged, so she didn't make it, but it's something not sold in the United States. Very delicious.
One thing that I noticed that I previously read about Belgian people is that the family wastes nothing. There's a couple meatballs and noodles left in your bowl? Feed it to Jack, the family dog. The toilet has two buttons: one uses much less water than the other. There's no air conditioning, there's windows to use (though it's quite cool here at the moment). The escalators at the metro don't run until they sense someone steps on them. Any leftover butter on your plate goes back into its container. If you recycle your beer bottle, you get reimbursed almost the entire cost. It's so very different than in America, where most people just throw away food and aren't concerned about recycling. It's difficult for me to remember to try to eat all of the food on my plate or to separate all of my trash into many different bins because I'm not used to doing it in America.
I'm a day behind in my blogging, so I'm going to try to update it all tonight.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
And then it got worse...
I'm sitting in a gorgeous hundred-year-old house. I'm kinda thinking all of the lay-overs and delays and vomiting was completely worth it.
Ah, back to our story.
I landed in Brussels, relieved that I finally made it. The path to baggage claim is ridiculously long. You go down two flights of escalators. Then you walk about half a mile (not exaggerating) through moving sidewalks. On a side note, I appreciated the fact that people in Europe actually walk on moving sidewalks instead of idiots in America who just stand there and block the entire path and then get mad when you destroy their faces with your luggage when you are running for your flight. After the half mile, then you go up three flights of escalators.
So I'm 10 pounds lighter, and the luggage comes down the circle thing (oh, hell, I can't think right now). I wait ten minutes. Twenty. Everyone from my flight is gone and I'm surrounded by Flemish-speaking people. At this point, I'm really not surprised this happened. I go up to baggage services. Nobody was there. I ask the guy at the money conversion kiosk and in very broken English, he tells me that there is someone there.
No, there isn't.
Yes, there must be!
Well, I'm saying there isn't.
Yes, yes, go look, straight ahead to right.
I go back. Still nobody there. At this point, I've vomited on some poor guy, I've gone 36 hours without sleep, I've been delayed and feel abandoned. So I call my mom.
Bless my mother. Just, bless her. She got up at 4 this morning to help me get another flight to Brussels and then I call, hysterical. For those of you who know me well, it takes a lot for me to cry (with the exception of dog movies, i.e. Marley and Me). I had a full-out anxiety attack. Europeans were staring openly at me.
She gets me calmed down enough to get me to call Sabine, my program director.
Bless Sabine. She drove an hour to pick me up and calm me down. I found out my luggage is still in Paris, and it'll be sent to my house either tomorrow or the next day.
Honestly, if I ever fly international again, I'll pay the extra fees. I'm flying direct.
I had a really great evening though, and I'll blog about it tomorrow.
But for now, a demain!
Ah, back to our story.
I landed in Brussels, relieved that I finally made it. The path to baggage claim is ridiculously long. You go down two flights of escalators. Then you walk about half a mile (not exaggerating) through moving sidewalks. On a side note, I appreciated the fact that people in Europe actually walk on moving sidewalks instead of idiots in America who just stand there and block the entire path and then get mad when you destroy their faces with your luggage when you are running for your flight. After the half mile, then you go up three flights of escalators.
So I'm 10 pounds lighter, and the luggage comes down the circle thing (oh, hell, I can't think right now). I wait ten minutes. Twenty. Everyone from my flight is gone and I'm surrounded by Flemish-speaking people. At this point, I'm really not surprised this happened. I go up to baggage services. Nobody was there. I ask the guy at the money conversion kiosk and in very broken English, he tells me that there is someone there.
No, there isn't.
Yes, there must be!
Well, I'm saying there isn't.
Yes, yes, go look, straight ahead to right.
I go back. Still nobody there. At this point, I've vomited on some poor guy, I've gone 36 hours without sleep, I've been delayed and feel abandoned. So I call my mom.
Bless my mother. Just, bless her. She got up at 4 this morning to help me get another flight to Brussels and then I call, hysterical. For those of you who know me well, it takes a lot for me to cry (with the exception of dog movies, i.e. Marley and Me). I had a full-out anxiety attack. Europeans were staring openly at me.
She gets me calmed down enough to get me to call Sabine, my program director.
Bless Sabine. She drove an hour to pick me up and calm me down. I found out my luggage is still in Paris, and it'll be sent to my house either tomorrow or the next day.
Honestly, if I ever fly international again, I'll pay the extra fees. I'm flying direct.
I had a really great evening though, and I'll blog about it tomorrow.
But for now, a demain!
Chapter One. In which Erin goes through her own personal hell.
I'm going to sound like a wimp in this post. I don't care. I've had 1 hour of sleep in the past 36, I've been fighting with people in two different languages and I'm just exhausted.
Let's start with US Airways. I will never, ever, fly with this company again. Not only was my flight delayed twice and I had to change gates twice, but the new flight I set up (because I missed my first one) was completely ignored and they routed me through two more planes and another country.
On the plane to Frankfurt, I'm doing alright. Quite happy because I'm eating a baquette with butter in the middle. Then the plane gets rocky. Really rocky. Like hurricane rocky. I remember this guy sitting next to me on the flight. I don't remember what he looked like or what clothes he was wearing. I remember his shoes. Nice shoes, kinda hipster shoes (but not obnoxiously so). I remember throwing up all over them. I tried reaching for the vomit bag. Except there was none. I apologized over and over in French and English and I think a language I made up on the spot, and he was cool with it. Didn't even make me compensate him, which I wanted to do.Thank God for nice people. I could've kissed him, but at that moment, I think he wouldn't appreciate it.
So I'm sitting in an airport whose staff speaks a language I can only say one word in: (Schiza, if you were wondering). I think I'll be getting into Brussels at 5. I think I might have someone picking me up. I don't know. I've been close to tears for the past 24 hours but right now, I just want to curl up and sleep.
I won't lie. Halfway to Frankfurt, I wanted to go home really badly. It wasn't worth it anymore. I'm still not sure it is. But, hell, I paid too much and I've worked too hard to get here. I'm not going to let some stupid rerouting and stranding and vomiting get in my way.
Honestly, it could get worse. I could be on my period. Oh wait...
Let's start with US Airways. I will never, ever, fly with this company again. Not only was my flight delayed twice and I had to change gates twice, but the new flight I set up (because I missed my first one) was completely ignored and they routed me through two more planes and another country.
On the plane to Frankfurt, I'm doing alright. Quite happy because I'm eating a baquette with butter in the middle. Then the plane gets rocky. Really rocky. Like hurricane rocky. I remember this guy sitting next to me on the flight. I don't remember what he looked like or what clothes he was wearing. I remember his shoes. Nice shoes, kinda hipster shoes (but not obnoxiously so). I remember throwing up all over them. I tried reaching for the vomit bag. Except there was none. I apologized over and over in French and English and I think a language I made up on the spot, and he was cool with it. Didn't even make me compensate him, which I wanted to do.Thank God for nice people. I could've kissed him, but at that moment, I think he wouldn't appreciate it.
So I'm sitting in an airport whose staff speaks a language I can only say one word in: (Schiza, if you were wondering). I think I'll be getting into Brussels at 5. I think I might have someone picking me up. I don't know. I've been close to tears for the past 24 hours but right now, I just want to curl up and sleep.
I won't lie. Halfway to Frankfurt, I wanted to go home really badly. It wasn't worth it anymore. I'm still not sure it is. But, hell, I paid too much and I've worked too hard to get here. I'm not going to let some stupid rerouting and stranding and vomiting get in my way.
Honestly, it could get worse. I could be on my period. Oh wait...
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Well, World, this is it...
The suitcase is (mostly) packed.
I have all my official documents.
I've had my panic attack.
I'm ready to go.
Thanks to everyone for helping me get here. Without the support, love,and money of my family and friends, I wouldn't be leaving tomorrow.
Next time you hear from me, I'll be in a different continent.
Unless customs officials decide to make my life hell, as they usually do.
I have all my official documents.
I've had my panic attack.
I'm ready to go.
(Handmade soaps from Asheville for my host family)
Thanks to everyone for helping me get here. Without the support, love,
Next time you hear from me, I'll be in a different continent.
Unless customs officials decide to make my life hell, as they usually do.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Goodbyes
Today my family celebrated my birthday early (I'll be turning 20 in June) and it's probably the last time I'll see some of them for a long time. I still don't think the fact that I'm actually leaving the country by myself has hit me yet. I still feel like it's going to be another long, boring summer.
Three days from now I'll be driving to Charlotte and boarding a plane that lands in Paris, France. I'll spend a few hours at Charles de Gaulle and then I'll switch to another plane that lands in Brussels.
I don't know a soul there. I don't know the people I'm living with. I don't know another person going. I don't know the language that the majority of the people speak. I feel like I should be feeling nervous or terrified or something, but I'm feeling nothing right now. Probably the night before, or the morning of my departure, I'll be wracked with nerves. But now, I'm just looking at my situation with a clear head.
I'll be going on my own adventure and I'm going to be completely dependent on myself and my own abilities. Moving to another country 3,000 miles away by myself will be the largest challenge I've faced in my life but I feel that I need to do this to find more self-confidence and to become proud of myself and to discover who I truly am. I've never felt like I knew where my place in this world was, and I think through the experience I'm about to go through, I might just find it.
Three days and counting...
Three days from now I'll be driving to Charlotte and boarding a plane that lands in Paris, France. I'll spend a few hours at Charles de Gaulle and then I'll switch to another plane that lands in Brussels.
I don't know a soul there. I don't know the people I'm living with. I don't know another person going. I don't know the language that the majority of the people speak. I feel like I should be feeling nervous or terrified or something, but I'm feeling nothing right now. Probably the night before, or the morning of my departure, I'll be wracked with nerves. But now, I'm just looking at my situation with a clear head.
I'll be going on my own adventure and I'm going to be completely dependent on myself and my own abilities. Moving to another country 3,000 miles away by myself will be the largest challenge I've faced in my life but I feel that I need to do this to find more self-confidence and to become proud of myself and to discover who I truly am. I've never felt like I knew where my place in this world was, and I think through the experience I'm about to go through, I might just find it.
Three days and counting...
Saturday, May 21, 2011
BlogTV
T minus four days until I take off from Charlotte and land in Paris.
I wanted to share a lovely website called BlogTV. A few times this summer, I'm planning on logging on and talking through my webcam. Unlike Skype, this website is nice that it allows a large number of people to log on and talk to me through an instant messaging interface.
I will log on probably around 5-6 Belgian time which would be early afternoon, around 11-12 EST.
Anyhow, here's my profile and I'll post a blog and Facebook status when I'll be online so I can talk to all of you wonderful people!
http://www.blogtv.com/people/erintheperko
I wanted to share a lovely website called BlogTV. A few times this summer, I'm planning on logging on and talking through my webcam. Unlike Skype, this website is nice that it allows a large number of people to log on and talk to me through an instant messaging interface.
I will log on probably around 5-6 Belgian time which would be early afternoon, around 11-12 EST.
Anyhow, here's my profile and I'll post a blog and Facebook status when I'll be online so I can talk to all of you wonderful people!
http://www.blogtv.com/people/erintheperko
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
15 Days, or How to Put Your Entire Life in One Small Suitcase
Ah, the first post.
It's 15 days until I leave the United States and I've received my housing assignment. I'm living in a very beautiful French neighborhood about 20 minutes south of the center of Brussels with two other girls in my program. The head of household's name is Hélène, and she has two teenage daughters Clementine and Stephanie. That's right, there's going to be six women in a townhouse. The estrogen is going to be overwhelming. They also have a dog!
(Above is the street that I'll be living on - isn't it cute? Well, I think most European things are cute)
I've started packing.
I've never considered myself materialistic, but this is the hardest part of the trip so far. How am I going to live for a few months out of one suitcase and only a week's amount of clothes? I want to take my entire wardrobe with me, but that's obviously unrealistic.
I've learned a few things:
at this point, it'll probably change five times) taking:
Friends, I may not make it.
It's 15 days until I leave the United States and I've received my housing assignment. I'm living in a very beautiful French neighborhood about 20 minutes south of the center of Brussels with two other girls in my program. The head of household's name is Hélène, and she has two teenage daughters Clementine and Stephanie. That's right, there's going to be six women in a townhouse. The estrogen is going to be overwhelming. They also have a dog!
(Above is the street that I'll be living on - isn't it cute? Well, I think most European things are cute)
I've started packing.
I've never considered myself materialistic, but this is the hardest part of the trip so far. How am I going to live for a few months out of one suitcase and only a week's amount of clothes? I want to take my entire wardrobe with me, but that's obviously unrealistic.
I've learned a few things:
- Mixing and matching is essential. If the same shirt can go with all your pants, that's more outfits. If the same pants can go with all shirts, that's more.
- A conservative (I'm talking in culture, here, not politics) country severely limits your clothing choices. For both learning and safety objectives, I want to blend into the Belgian society. Unfortunately, this means that sleeveless shirts and shorts that go above your knees are out. The Belgian people dress very modestly compared to Americans and a tourist sticks out like a sore thumb when they wear tank tops and short shorts/skirts.
- Shoes take up a large amount of room in a suitcase. And I want to take a different pair for each outfit. (IDON'TWANTTOCHOOSE)
- Two pairs of jeans
- Two jean capris
- Three long-ish skirts
- Three dresses
- Two (but soon to be more) cardigans
- Six shirts
- The very essential bathing suit (Going to a beach in Antwerp)
- My trusty Converse
- Dress shoes
- One pair of flip flops (oh, this is killing me)
Friends, I may not make it.
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